


Applied Study of the Male of The Species

by Missy



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Genre Shift, Alternate Universe - Regency, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Boats and Ships, Botany, Chess, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Getting Together, Hugs, Humor, Interpersonal Drama, Introverts, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage of Convenience to Real Marriage, Mother-Daughter Conflicts, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Music, North Carolina, Ocean Voyages, Romance, Self-Engineered Kidnappings, Smut, Snowball Fights, South America, Summer, Two Introverts In Love, Winter, gemology, vomitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Lady Persephone wants away.  Away from life as her botanist mother's assistant, away from the allergy-inducing work they produce and away from the smothering shadow Demeter casts.When Persephone sees Duke Lucifer of Hades at a house party, she immediately senses he's her way out.  It turns out that he, too, wants to rid himself of the pressure of a marriage market for which he's unsuited and return to his life studying bears.  A hasty Gretna Green marriage later and the two of them are sailing to his home in America.But can they learn to balance light and dark, the glitter of gems and the softness of fur, before an angry Demeter comes to retrieve her daughter?





	Applied Study of the Male of The Species

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



It’s not that Persephone doesn’t adore her mother. Heaven knew that they were joined at the hip, day in and day out, while her mother picked among the fauna, shouting out the name of one plant or another, her dirt-stained fists waving triumphantly over her head and smiling radiantly at her daughter. And she would smile back, as she had for the last twenty one summers, the corners of her mouth tightening.

It wasn’t that Persephone didn’t love her mother. It was that Persephone was terribly tired of plants. 

The South of France was utterly drenched in them – huge, waving green palms that smacked her across the nose and made her sneeze. Big, wide-set flowers that smelled beautiful to everyone but her, or tiny delicate blossoms that crumbled in her palm. Persephone smiled and sneezed her way through her mother’s endless flights from home; her runaway race toward the next exotic blossom that would make her famous. And Persephone was there for it all, capturing the quest with pictures, editing her words into usable, salable manuscripts.

It didn’t really seem to matter to her mother that Persephone was slightly allergic to most blossoms – what mattered was their being together and Demeter’s work. Thus, Persephone walked about with a handkerchief in her pocket, and made note of everything her mother discovered. She was the perfect helpmeet – at twenty-five, just a hair to the south of spinsterhood and clearly seen as a forgotten belle by everyone but her concerned mother. Her mother didn’t care if she married – they were well taken care of by her ream of speaker’s fees and a small inheritance from Persephone’s rich, legendary grandfather. But Persephone wanted more. She wanted to see leaves change. Feel the bite of frost on her tongue. Have hot chocolate and soak in a warm bath. 

It was summer in her life eternally. And Persephone was growing terribly bored of it.

She wondered what winter would feel like, after years away from England. Would it be frosty cold? Would it make her toes and fingertips ache with the chill? Would she skate on a pond thick and blue-white with ice? And would there be friends about to laugh with, to pick each other up when their skates became caught in a rut? 

She hadn’t thought about these other options when she left finishing school. Her life was a mindless march most days, as she moved in step, correcting her mother’s work, living off of cold sandwiches, icy baths, and cold tea, never quite getting ahead of her enormous ream of notes. There was always a new book to publish, always some new bit of horticultural knowledge to be shared. And not one drop of it, not one second of the day, was devoted to Persephone’s needs, Persephone’s wants. She had a degree in linguistics. She had dreams of her own – of variety. Of discovering something deep and dark and squirming free under the dark soil, a worm flexing toward freedom, a bright light it could not happily reach.

Toward sunlight that had begun to hurt her skin.

She grew more tired of it by the day.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

They called him the Duke of Hades, but his natural name was Lucifer, and he had hair to match his temptingly sinful name.

(Persephone reminded herself to write those lines down later. They’d sell like hotcakes on the pulp novel market).

She saw him for the first time across a crowded ballroom in China, standing aside stiffly, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants, tippling away at a glass of wine. Her mother took one look at him and drew Persephone away from his gaze, trying to engage an ambassador in a discussion about land conservation. She knew something about him without having to ask questions from the marquises and ladies who hovered about – he was the son of a gemologist who spent much of his time bouncing between North America, Norway, Holland and Russia – a man Persephone admired, for she wished to study gems as well. Hades was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps, but she heard it rumored he enjoyed studying hibernating mammals instead of rocks. The sight of him – dark, with a soft sensual mouth, an unfashionably thick beard and large dark eyes, curls falling from his que and his shoulders pushed back – made her realize he looked an awful lot like the bears he wished to study.

Persephone’s mind was made up in a minute – she was going to meet the man, and this very evening. The trick would be to rid herself of her mother for a minute, but fate intervened for her – luckily Lady Etherdown drew her mother into an involving discussion about whether or not African Violets truly originated in Africa. With her thus distracted, Persephone marched across the room and said, in a loud voice, “Duke Hades?”

“Miss Whitelawn,” he said, effecting a very stiff-waisted bow. “I don’t believe we’ve ever formally met.”

“No, we have not, but I’ve heard of your work and I find it simply fascinating,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden gush of words – not something common from the quiet, self-effacing woman she could be in her worst moments. “Would you mind walking with me while mother is…occupied?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose I would mind.”

They did not link arms as they crossed the floor and walked to the back garden, where more lush greenery greeted them both.

She sneezed loudly, and he offered her a handkerchief. “Beastly amount of pollen this month,” he said.

Persephone delicately blew her nose and nodded, choosing not to hand him back his handkerchief. “I’m afraid I’m awfully allergic to what’s in the air,” she admitted. “Sir, I have a deadly earnest purpose in approaching you.”

“Oh?” he asked. She could see sweat bead up upon his brow and realized quite suddenly that they were standing in an improperly close way.

“Yes,” she said. “I wish to propose a business arrangement to you.”

“Oh.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I would need a lawyer for…”

She grasped his night black waistcoat in her hand and tugged. “Not that sort of arrangement.” She looked straight up into those dark eyes of his and he gulped. 

“Understood. Please speak freely,” he said.

She stood back from him. “I understand that your father wishes you to marry soon.” Somehow his impossibly pale skin tuned another shade lighter. “Since you are the second son he’s less concerned with the line, but your scientific pursuit of the bear has left him concerned you will die without issue. My mother will never let me marry, but I wish to be – or at least to become something that is not just an adjacent portion of her anatomy.” She placed a hand upon his and wasn’t surprised to feel it soft against hers –perhaps due to frequent application of lanolin from animal’s fur. “Most women fear your imposing nature and the idea of a life lived in colder climates, but not I.”

He drew back and stared down at her. “Good god, woman, are you proposing?”

Persephone said, “Not simply proposing – I suppose I’m demanding. I don’t have a dowry, naturally – mother didn’t anticipate my marriage and she’d do anything to stop me from gaining my independence by leaving her through wedlock – but I do have savings enough to ensure your work will continue. And would go with you, to take up studies of my own in gemology. We would have a comfortable life together, and study in a room of our own, and neither of us will be forced upon the marriage market like beef ready to spoil.”

“You’re requesting a marriage?”

‘Yes.”

“Ahh.” He scratched his head. “Are you suggesting this union be in name only?” he wondered.

She frowned. “Am I that repulsive?”

“Heavens no!” he said. Again, he blotted his sweaty forehead, which was enough to cause her to take his hand in hers. Persephone stared at the contrast between her dark olive skin and his frosting-white knuckles.

“What say you to my bargain?”

He sighed. “I suppose.”

“Fine,” she said. “I accept. Have you a carriage?”

“Of course,” he said quickly.

“Then wait for me at the back gate of the main house,” she said. “We’re leaving today.”

He sputtered but didn’t stop her as they parted.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

Persephone’s entire life fit beautifully into a small valise. It contained all she wanted and all she needed to remind her of her small, chaste life; a daguerreotype of her as an infant with her parents, her diary, a smaller notebook containing her own research, an album filled with flowers – pressed flat and dried of their pollen and thus no longer a threat - and a clean pair of bloomers.

Downstairs, the party was still in full swing, and her mother had sent no message to her, nor tried to give chase. Persephone listened for a single second more to the party happening beneath her feet. She could still hear violins playing, the soft ‘whud’ of cellos echoing up through the floorboard. The note she left behind for her mother was simple _‘On my own path. Will write from Russia’._

There! That would distract the woman for a few months. And then Persephone heaved up the sash. The drop from her window to the ground wasn’t far, and she realized as she climbed over the sill and caught her boot-covered toes in the lattice outside the window, that the ledge was strong enough to support her weight. She was within a foot of the ground when she heard a gasp.

“For heaven’s sake, you’re going to dash your brains in!”

Duke Hades’ voice filled her with relief – an angry, sharp shock of a shout, but a relief. She only lost a bit of her grip, and he was under the trellis, his hands out, ready to catch her.

How comforting. She’d never experienced such forwardness from anyone in her life before.

Persephone shimmied down the trellis and hit the ground feet first, pride touching her smile as she took in his horrified expression. “You did come,” she said, and was embarrassed by the degree of relief that entered her voice.

“A gentleman keeps his promises,” Hades said. “Do you… _do_ this often?” 

She straightened her blouse and said, “Only occasionally. Now shall we be off to Gretna Green?”

He was startled. “You don’t wish to meet my father? 

“I want to go to Russia with you,” she said quickly and firmly. “Immediately.”

He took a step toward his carriage – it was as large and dark as he was, and Persephone felt a thrill of doing something utterly forbidden – something that she didn’t think she’d ever get a chance to do.

Then she heard her mother caterwauling from the porch. “Persephone!” she shouted.

“Come on!” Persephone demanded, throwing herself into the carriage. Hades followed without thinking and slammed closed the door. 

“Gretna Green!” He said to his driver. “Immediately!”

The carriage lurched to life as Demeter gave chase to their fleeing bumper. Persephone watched from the back window in abject horror – afraid of her mother’s wrath, afraid to see her be hurt. She regretted her rashness – her need to run away with this total stranger - for just a moment.

“We might pull over,” Duke Hades said. It was a suggestion. She knew right then that his biddablility would be a relief from a life lived beside her headstrong mother. 

And in a moment she weighed the value of her freedom versus life beneath the constant veil of her mother's desires. The choice was an easy one. “Keep going,” she demanded. 

Their driver increased his speed. When the carriage passed through the forest thicket, her mother became smaller, smaller, and soon was left behind, shouting her name, her beautiful pink dress growing red-brown in the mud.

Persephone knew Demeter wouldn’t give up the hunt – but her experiment in living would be safely kept from her mother's influence for now. Her shoulders slumped as she sighed.

“Good lord. The woman’s fearless,” Duke Hades said. “What have I married into?”

Persephone eyeballed him from beneath half-shuttered lashes. “At least you won’t be bored,” she said.

He made a grumbling sound and turned his attention toward the road racing to greet them.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

Persephone had never harbored foolish, light-headed dreams of her own wedding. Such frippery was for girls sweeter and lighter of foot than she. When they found a registrar willing to marry them, she took only a moment to comb her hair and freshen her breath – the pale violet gown she wore would be suitable enough for any royal duchess, and would be just fine for a simple ceremony attended by her new husband, a coachman, the judge and his wife.

But some small measure of tradition was apparently required, no matter how hard she fought against it. The judge’s wife teared up as she used a scrap of curtain cloth to make a veil for Persephone. “You look like a little doll,” she said, and it was like a kick in the kidneys, so quickly was Persephone reminded of her mother. The woman she’d left sobbing in the mud six hours and a sunrise behind her.

Perhaps this was a horrible mistake after all.

The idea faded away when she saw Hades standing in front of the judge’s desk. She approached and gave him a nervous smile. His hand was icy and shook as he took hers.

The judge seemed less than impressed eyeballed the two of them. “I suppose your father knows about this?”

Of course he knew Hades somehow. Duke Hades’ features tightened into a rictus of pain. “He will be told shortly,” Hades said.

The Judge rubbed his temples. “And I suppose I can’t put the two of you off of your choice?” They nodded. “All right. Sign here. And there.” He let out a little huff when Persephone’s shaking hand over looped Hades’. “You’ll have to do it again,” he said, and blotted the signatures away with a handkerchief and sand. 

“I’m sorry. This is my first wedding,” Persephone said, and immediately regretted her own inanity. 

The judge made no note of her reaction. Instead, he redrafted the document and allowed them to sign.

The rest of the ceremony moved with shocking speed. Traditional vows were spoken; Hades slipped a ring onto her finger borrowed from the judge’s wife. His voice trembled like a boy’s as he spoke, and Persephone’s were clear and just a hair this side of shrill. They were wed, and then the judge’s wife eagerly told them that luncheon would be available once they sealed their vows with a kiss.

As Hades pecked her lips, she realized his coachman hadn’t made a single sound during the ceremony. That she’d sweated through her fancy ballgown. That Hades had an extremely appealing mouth, and his lips were sinfully soft.

This was her wedding. And as unemotional as the bargain had been, she would try to remember how this day felt.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

By sunset, they were on a ship to North Carolina. Persephone realized one thing as they rested in their private berth – she was not allergic to the smell of the ocean. Her nose was wide open for the first time in years, and she could taste or smell anything delivered to her. Not that she got to enjoy the rations she shared with other varying aristocrats for long.

Hades took the chamber pot from her with a sigh. “I didn’t know you possessed a sensitive stomach.” His nose wrinkled as he emptied the offending vessel out of a nearby porthole.

“My stomach isn’t sensitive,” Persephone said, rubbing her belly in annoyance. “It’s the pitching of the accursed ship.”

“Ahh,” he said. But he did keep a tasteful distance from her as he sat at the opposing end of their bunk.

“I’m sorry this trip hasn’t been…what you wished it to be,” she said. By which she meant ‘I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to claim your husbandly rights, because I’ve been so incredibly unwell thanks to this sea sickness."

“I understand. It hasn’t been the smoothest of crossings for me, either.”

She sighed and leaned back, resting against the bunk’s mattress. “I never did ask you why you agreed to this marriage. Beyond dearly wishing to be away from the balls and dances you wanted not to attend, of course.” 

“Where should I begin?” he asked.

“With the beginning.”

“I did know who you were,” he admitted. “The gossips speak of you, the beautiful daughter of the lady flower studies. They say that you’re an impregnable ice queen.”

“And?” 

“I wished to see if they were true,” he admitted. He downed the rest of his port and collected their goblets, setting them beside the table lamp and pushing aside the heavy winter quilts enrobing the bed. “But I fear I am no seducer in the tradition of my dear pater. Instead, I found you and your mind fascinating as you spoke to me. And I have been in need of a wife – for the title, and to stave off the loneliness of my studies. Naturally, eventually, the continuance of the line must be considered as well.”

“And so you allowed me to steal you.”

He snorted. “Yes, little one, and so you turned my entire life upside down by the roots.”

“Little one?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

“I…” again he flushed. “I did not recall calling you that.”

“But you did,” she said serenely. “And you said it with a smile on your face.”

He tried to press his lips in a thin line. “This is absurd. I don’t know you.”

That confession gave her pause, but she said, “What’s your favorite flower, bird and the most important thing in your life?”

“Milkweeds, vultures, and discovering a rarely-seen species of bear and protecting it with every last bit of my energy. Why do you ask?”

“I think that’s all you really need to know about a person,” she said. Silence, aside from the nearby chattering of the sailors sailing them away. “Discovering a rare mineral and naming it after my father, ravens, and none.” She shrugged. “I suppose we aren’t so different.”

“Now truly - why did you ask me such an absurd question?”

She laughed. “If you think it’s absurd, I shan’t tell you.”

More silence. He squirmed in his seat. Finally, a low sigh. “Sincerely, please. Is that really all there is to the question?”

There he was, blowing hot and cold again. “Yes. Because when one knows those three things, they know everything about a person.”

He shook his head. “Absurd! What of religion! Politics! Food?”

“I cannot vote but believe in justice, am a non-practicing Episcopalian, and would rather not think of food while there are two spinning Hades hovering over my head.”

“All right,” he sighed. “Well. Six more weeks to go!”

She let out a choked groan. Was he simply trying to drive her mad?

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

He _was_ trying to drive her mad.

They arrived in November, just a few days behind a meter-high snowfall that required him to sledge out a path up their driveway. He had stopped only to buy them fresh horses. She helped as she could, wearing his cape and her by now thrice-rewashed ballgown, which was tattered and unsuitable for the temperature. He had explained that he had a stockpile of warm things within his home. She would borrow his clothing and his things until the snow melted and she could navigate the town and learn where the shops were. She had enough travelling experience to know how to haggle, and knew she’d be able to take care of the situation once she got her literal and metaphorical land legs.

The home he’d crafted of thick stone bricks was sturdy and decently sized, close to a large lake with many trees. The windows were leaded with real glass, and the chimney and foundation made of stones. He pulled a large brass key from his pocket and worked open the lock. 

“Miraculously,” he said, “it’s not frozen.” And with that he let her inside.

What greeted her was not impressive, though she didn’t yearn to be impressed so much as dry. There was a great room, a loft where he kept his bed, a large tub and a stove; a large table and several thick books. It was cozy looking enough but very cold.

When he went to stoke up a fire, she brought him thick, fat, dry chunks of wood. He raised an eyebrow in appreciation but said nothing more, instead striking up a fire. Soon the stove glowed red, and the room became surprisingly cozy.

He took at look at his surroundings and shrugged his shoulders. “Ahh. The burden of being a second son,” he said mirthlessly. “I have little in the way of special provisions to give you. Between us there will be little privacy to be had here, but once the house warms I will leave so you can change into something clean.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Food. Do you have some?”

“In the cold house,” he said. “Cheese, meat. Apples and pears in the cellar. Wine and cider, and the water fresh from the brook.”

She nodded. “What do you _do_ when the bears are hibernating?” 

“Translate my research. Read. Play my violin. Fairer weather means more friends.” He settled at the table. It was finally warm enough to remove his gloves, her cape, their hats.

“It sounds…” She thought of her old world. The constant whirl of life with her mother. Endless teas and society luncheons, or hours tromping through the field among plants that left her suffering. So many months spent on someone else’s dream from the age she graduated from the nursery. “Heavenly.”

He smiled. “I’ll be off for a moment. If you require assistance…?”

She didn’t, of course. This new home of his was simple and – at the moment – dotted with snow. She had slept in cruder dwellings in her time, so she didn’t mind the dirt floors or the heavy, thick fur blankets instead of carefully woven quilts and sheets. She did, however, mind being miles and miles from anything close to a cave. When the weather improved she would begin panning for rocks. It wasn’t quite gemology, but its cousin was close enough.

She raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but be reminded of the fact that their marriage had not yet been consummated thanks to her seemingly-unending sea sickness. Now that they were on dry land they would be unified in more than just name and contract. 

Oh well. At least her nose was clear.

“You did prepare for the winter, then,” she said dryly. “Very well. I will freshen up. Your clean clothing is?”

“In the trunk at the foot of the bed. I’ll leave fresh water for you outside the cabin while I find fresh meat for dinner.”

She smiled at their camaraderie. Perhaps madness was further off than she’d believed it to be.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

The rinse she gave herself proved incredibly refreshing, as was the pine-scented soap he’d left her to bathe with. Upstairs, as promised, were several shirts and pairs of pants, all of which were too loose for her small frame. She shrugged and took them downstairs, stitching until they felt less baggy on her form. The thick wool felt comfortable, as did the cotton shirt; her heavy shawl protected her from further chill.

By the time Hades returned, she was whistling to herself, neatening up the small cabin. 

He paused in the doorway, and she squared up to face him. “You’re letting in all of the cold air,” she said. That startled him out of his wits via the sight of her in his breaches, suspenders and shirt. 

“My apologies. I was…unprepared,” he said. She shook her head.

She cocked her head. “You’re not one of those fellows who gets angry about women wearing pants, are you?”

“No,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. She noticed the blush he sported but chalked it up to the cold. “Well. Dinner?”

This was a fresh battleground. By the time they got the stew bubbling, the moon was high in the night sky. Hades pulled out his violin and played an old country reel, and she hummed as she made bread from cornmeal mush. They ate heartily, cleaned away the dishes.

“Do you happen to play chess?” he asked. 

“Sparingly,” she said. He didn’t have to know that she had beaten a few of her mother’s professorial rivals in games before.

Settling down before the fire, her hair falling like firelight about her shoulders, Persephone leaned over the board. She shifted her pawn.

Hades smiled and moved his knight. She galloped her pawn forward. He gently knocked her pawn out of the way, but she already had a plan for an aggressive march, one piece going before the other. Her head was blessedly cleared, her eyes clear and free of itch.

She was going to beat this man at his own game. Handily.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

And so the winter went: mornings writing their discoveries within their journals. Afternoons searching the wilderness around them for fresh tracks, hunting for caves and new specimens – hauling water and bringing home fresh meat to supplement the beef and chicken in their cold storage on the way home. They split logs and fed the horses; they cleaned the floors and polished the windows. He wrote letters to his father that would remain unsent until the roads cleared. In the evenings they dressed their dinner, eating in tandem. 

And afterwards his chess board would come out, and they would express their desires in the form of contained battle.

Persephone knew perfectly well why they hadn’t tried to consummate the relationship yet. The slow, easy courtship they had carved out together – made of thoughtful gestures and long nights over a chess board – was too new to be messed about with. She didn’t want to ruin the situation by misreading his signals. Persephone didn’t believe him cruel enough to throw her out into the snow – it was neither in his nature to be so cruel, even though his accuracy in the hunt could be deadly and faultless – a god of death in the icy terrain. He was otherwise gentle with the wildlife they encountered. And he did need the help on his hikes and studies – as did she. 

In March the snows began to thaw, and in April it was Hades’ birthday. He was thirty-five to her thirty-three, and, she told him, didn’t look a day over ancient. 

“When you are forty,” he told her, “I shall remind you of your slings and arrows, little one.” The words still made her blush. As they made him bow his head and scratch his ears. 

The days sped along promisingly. She found a large geode to be broken open with a hammer in the late afternoon; hopefully it would be something more than the rock crystals the mountains had been giving her. Their first mail delivery arrived – notes from his brother and his father, announcement of a stipend deposited in his account in town. They wished Hades’ marriage well, and hoped to meet his bride when summer arrived. The promise of practical and clean new clothing, white flour and sugar tempted Persephone’s tongue; she had hoarded the last few flakes they had to make small cakes for his birthday. Flavored with cider, they smelled delicious as they baked alongside the roast, rolls and root vegetables that made up the last quarter of their stores. After they cleaned away the dishes, the moon was high, and he brought out his chess board.

The game was a production that evening – wild, surprising them both by becoming a ping-pong game of equals. They had grown together over the past few months. Each could anticipate how the other may think, but not with enough certainty to predict and avert.

When her queen took his pawn, he leaned impulsively over the board.

There was a beat of her heart, maybe two, speeding up, making her mind turn about. He stared into her eyes.

“My apologies. Good game?” he asked.

She seized him by the lapels and kissed him back.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

It was clear that neither of them had much of a clue what they were doing. He was honest when he told her he was no seducer. So he rushed his face along the curve of her bust and slid his tongue, swift and firm, along the tip of her nipple. She bit his bottom lip and accidentally scratched her nails down his ribcage. He fumbled to discover the small, secret lump of flesh that brought painful thrills onto her trembling, soft body, and he stilled her wrist when the motion of her hand along his stiff flesh became a pulsing, living thing in her grip. They knew the basics of the uniting motion, but matters of rhythm were painfully thrilling and awkward; not the horror story she had been warned of, but not the magic also hissed about. The pleasure she felt never peaked, and his own ended with a sharp yell and a quick thrust.

As she panted and sweated under his weight, she wondered about how her mother had ecstatically spoken of her multiple physical affairs and declared them so satisfactory. She had felt some of what Demeter had described, but not felt the ultimate satisfaction that had been promised. 

Hades sat up panting between her sprawled legs. “That won’t do,” he declared. “You didn’t reach the acme.”

“The acme?”

He shook his head. _”The Acme,”_ he repeated.

“Well.” She pushed her hair from her eyes and stared at him, “I did know that such a…thing was possible for women but I didn’t expect you to care enough to deliver it, so I didn’t think to ask for…”

That actually upset him. He took her face between her hands. “Darling, I refuse to stop until I achieve perfection. Unless I’ve made you sore? Shall I stop?”

“No,” she said eagerly. There wasn’t much pain at all, in truth, and her hands were already running up his long thin arms, testing his soft skin. “Please, go on.”

Minutes later, her hips rose and she cried out her surprise at the pleasure, at her delight, and held him fast as he shuddered in her arms.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

The morning after was peaceful and newly communal. He drew a bath for them both and they splashed there, laughing, until the water grew cold. Buckwheat pancakes, apple pudding and ham made a fine meal; when they cleaned the dishes and walked the mountains together, instead of carefully studying tracks and looking for unusual looking rocks, Persephone found herself looking at Hades instead. It was very primitive living, but it was life lived together, decided upon and shared as two people who talked out their feelings before acting upon them.

Which was why she decided to toss a snowball at him as they entered a large clearing near the house.

He sputtered in surprise. “Little One,” he said seriously, “you can’t possibly be hoping to…” He squawked when she hit him in the face with another snowball. He returned fire, trying not to trip in the high drifts, and they backed together toward the cabin.

Persephone was fully distracted by the game – and didn’t notice the person standing behind her until they tucked a sack over her head and hauled her away.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

She was aware of the jouncing and sound of horses’ hooves, and the rocking of a carriage. That, above all things, told her who had stolen her away.

“Hah! He thought he could outwit me!” Then, “oh darling, say something – you haven’t been hurt, have you?”

The sound she made was primordial. “Mother!” She wriggled out of the sack. “What on earth are you doing? How did you find me?”

“Well, I spoke to Missus Clyde, who knew Terpsichorean, who is your so-called-husband’s cousin. I spoke to his father over tea several months ago, and as soon as he told me you were in the Carolinas I made haste to America. The snow kept me from you for ages, it was an ordeal…” Then came her mother's perfumed clasp, the tightness of her grip. Demeter drew Persephone in and she felt loved but smothered. The scent of her floral perfume made Persephone sneeze, as it always did. “Has he hurt you? What awful, beastly thing has he - ?”

“MOTHER!” Why could she not force out another word? “I’m…he’s…we’ve….”

“God! He’s dashed the brains from your skull!” Her mother’s fists shook in outrage. “I’ll have him drug before the courts! Put in Newgate! We’re getting you an annulment the second we’re back in England!”

“Mother! I love him!” What a terrible way for her to realize the truth – and what an awful way to realize that she truly did love her husband.

She had not even called him yet by his true name, but she knew she was his, wholeheartedly. 

Demeter stared at her daughter, at the look on her face, and let out a laugh. “I’ve heard of this. It’s called…what is it called?”

“I do not have Stockholm Syndrome,” said Persephone. “And I was not kidnapped, I asked Lucifer to take me with him!”

“His name is _Lucifer_?” Demeter scrubbed a hand over her face. “Dear God, I should have brought a priestess!”

“I don’t care what you think of his name, he’s my husband! He agreed to marry me because he was in want of a wife. We’re suited for one another, and the marriage has been fully consummated.” With intensity she added, “turn the carriage around mother. There will be no annulment. I won’t go home with you!”  


Demeter glared at her daughter. But before she could say anything the door of the carriage was ripped open. 

She knew who it was before she saw his dark head, the erect posture of his body in the saddle. “Persephone!” he shouted.

“Lucifer!” she called in return.

He slammed his free hand – the one that wasn’t clutching his stallion’s mane – with his free hand against the buckboard to alert the driver. “Turn the bloody the carriage around!” he demanded. 

And, by some miracle, the man heard, and did.

 

 

****

**~~**************************************************************************~~**

 

 

Hades was wise enough to stand back and allow mother and daughter to speak alone. He knew when he was outmatched at a negotiating table.

Demeter had been worn down by her daughter’s persistence. “…But I can’t spare you, darling.”

“I’m not asking you to spare me wholeheartedly – only that we meet in climates that don’t activate my allergies. I can give you five months out of the year, six at most, in climates with low amounts of pollen. _AND_ Lucifer shall come with us to oversee his portion of his family estate. I will translate your notes, but that will not be all I shall do. You cannot be my life entire, mother. Not anymore.”

Demeter frowned at her. “The world will be barren without you beside me, darling.”

Persephone smiled. “You will manage.”

Demeter let out a dramatic sigh and stood up. “Very well. Do change out of your clothing – it’s wet, and you know how easily you catch cold.”

 _Not anymore,_ Persephone thought to herself, but smiled thinly. 

“I don’t have a room, but I suppose the coach I hired might have advice.” She paused, hands spread upon their table. “Oh, and I did bring a gift.” She headed quickly out the door and was back again with a large amethyst. Persephone gasped quietly at the gift.

“I had brought it because I’d thought I might have to negotiate with…Lucifer…for your return. But since I do not, perhaps you would like to have this instead?”

“Thank you,” Persephone said. She took the stone to the corner of the room – with her magnifying glasses and books, she would analyze it later.

Demeter watched as she wrapped herself in her shawl. “Well. That is the happiest I’ve seen you in years.”

“Goodbye, mother.” Persephone left the rock behind to hug her mother, and for once didn’t sneeze, though she dearly wished to wring her neck. Persephone glanced over her shoulder and sighed as Lucifer shut the door and stoked up the fire. The large amethyst her mother had given her still sparkled in the corner of the room, like a promise that would, with determination and luck, be fulfilled.

And then they were alone again.

Lucifer’s arms enfolded her from behind, and the tension leaked out of Persephone’s body. “She’ll be back,” he said.

“I know,” said Persephone. “Sooner rather than later, I fear.”

They stood by those big heavy windows and watched her mother’s rented coach head up the now-visible path out of the woods and to the nearest town. “You know, Little One, It did occur to me, as I held your head over that chamber pot on the ship,” he said, “we didn’t avoid making a proper plan in the slim chance that love rise between us.” 

She squeezed his hand. “Life made a plan for us,” she said. 

“Indeed,” he said. “A policy I’m thrilled I shan’t have to cash in.” 

“We won’t have to worry about that,” he declared. 

As they kissed, Persephone realized there were hundreds of ways to learn about a person. The way is body moved when he played the violin. The way he smiled when he took a bite out of the cake she’d made. The fierce look in his eyes when he saved her from her mother’s stubbornness. 

And from the way his whole body took hers in as they embraced, cloaking her in the sheltering darkness.


End file.
